


Just Another Day

by pandashurley



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Cake, Confession, M/M, PWP, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandashurley/pseuds/pandashurley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Sherlock's birthday but John has to find out from Mycroft. Post-Riche, and cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

It was his first day off in sometime. No case for Sherlock, no surgery for him and John wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Sherlock had been working more or less non-stop on some sort of experiment that was making the downstairs an absolute horror. John had tried to open some windows last night, but Sherlock protested saying something about the reaction with ambient oxygen molecules and John didn't have the energy to fight about it anymore. Sometime in the night, the experiment must have finished because the flat didn't smell as bad, at least not with his door still shut.

The sun was barely peaking through the windows and John cursed his military training. When he was going to bed last night, he had promised his brain that he wouldn't wake up until at least mid morning, but apparently the outside world had other plans. His phone had been pinging for at least an hour now.

**John, we're out of tea. -SH**

**Did you go to bed? -SH**

**My mixture was wrong. The experiment was moot. Must repeat. -SH**

**Need somethings from St. Barts. Text me when you're there, I'll give you a list.- SH**

John sighed as he scrolled through the messages. Sherlock had apparently forgotten he wasn't going in today. He set his phone back on the night table and rolled over in bed so he was facing the wall. Today he didn't want to deal with anything but himself. He just wanted a nice relaxing morning. Maybe some tea. No experiments. No running around London. Just a day off. His phone pinged again.

**Need to chat. Urgent. Car will be out front, 15 minutes. -MH**

_Nope_. John thought simply, setting the phone back down and pulling a Sherlockian move and pouting into the mattress. Whatever Mycroft wanted could wait until tomorrow.

**John, I promise to make it worth your while. Please come. -MH**

_What on earth...? He said please?_ John couldn't help his curiosity and typed out a quick response.

**Unless it's life or death, no dice, Mycroft. It's my day in. -JW**

**I understand, John. Need your help. Repeat: Urgent. Car out front, 5 minutes. Please come.- MH**

_Bloody Hell..._ John thought and rose from bed. No time to shower, but that didn't really matter. It was only Mycroft. John stumbled over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans and his striped jumper. His jacket was in the living room downstairs, as were his shoes, and he knew he had to face Sherlock sooner or later. He grabbed a pair of socks and headed down the stairs.

He found Sherlock laying on the couch, unmoving. The flat did smell better, but there was a haze in the air that made him a little wary to go all the way in.

"So you were asleep. Are you going in today?" Sherlock asked, his eyes popping open and training on the doctor who was currently searching for his shoes.

"No, Sherlock. I'm not. It's my day off and your bloody prat of a brother wants me to talk to him." John said finding his shoes and sitting in his chair. He looked over at his flatmate and was surprised to see him sitting bolt upright, his blue satin dressing gown hanging off one shoulder. The way Sherlock was staring made him slightly uncomfortable.

"Did he say what about?" Sherlock's eyes were slightly dark and a little scared looking.

"Um... no. Said it was urgent. Said he would 'make it worth my while'. Figured I might as well, just in case you plan on going to St. Bart's on your own to get whatever you need to blow the house up again." John said tugging on and tying his shoes. He stood up and walked toward the door. "What? No protest? No conniving remark you wish me to relay?" John asked as he stood by the door.

"No..." Was all John got back as Sherlock scrambled suddenly for his phone. Ping.

**Car, John. Now. -MH**

"Ah, the devil beckons..." John said as he walked down the stairs, grabbing his coat on the way out the door. He pulled it on and stared at the black car sitting by the curb. A new girl got out of the back and held the door for him, too obsessed with her phone to even give him a nod as he climbed in. By now, Sherlock would have sent him some sort of snippy text for his brother, but his phone remained blissfully silent as the car pulled away from the curb.  
\----------------------------------------  
It was at least 40 minutes before the car pulled to a stop. It was outside a building which used to be a hotel by the looks of it. It smelled more like a brothel or a drug den when John walked inside. The girl led him up the stairs to something akin to a ballroom where Mycroft was sitting at a table, pouring tea into a rather clean albeit off colored blue cup.

"Ah, John! Splendid." Mycroft said, setting down the tea pot and gesturing to the chair directly across from what John assumed was his own. John crossed, ready to get this over with.

"So, Mycroft. What is it this time? Espionage? Murder? Blackmail? Funny color in your undies?" John snapped as his sat down, not even bothering to touch the tea now in front of him.

"Oh John, nothing so..." His nose crinkled up a little. "...pedestrian. Do you know what today is?" Mycroft asked.

"With the way you're carrying on, it's fit to be the end of the world. And yet it's only Monday." John smirked and started to prepare the tea. Might as well get something out of it since there weren't any large bags of cash laying around.

"Only one person in the world would see it that way, in the right light." John rolled his eyes as Mycroft gently sipped at his tea.

"Oh, come off it, Mycroft. Tell me why I'm here and let me go home." John sighed, exasperated at all the secrecy. He wanted to be back in bed with a book. Back home, just anywhere but here.

"Well, John, to be perfectly honest, today is a day of note. It's Sherlock's birthday." Mycroft paused and John's mouth slacked open. At that moment, John's phone pinged.

**Bored. -SH**

"Why wouldn't he tell me himself?" John asked, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

"Sherlock doesn't like his birthday. It was never a big event for him growing up, you know." John nodded. The temporary vessel. Why celebrate it getting older and breaking down? "I called you here to tell you because you and Sherlock have grown close over the few years or so. I feel if expressed in the right manner, you could give him a birthday worth celebrating." Mycroft said, now meeting John's eyes.

"What do you mean, exactly?" John asked, a little wary of the answer.

"For an intelligent man, John, you really are quite dull. I don't know what he sees in you." Mycroft scoffed.

"Now wait one bloody second, Mycroft Holmes. You and your brother have both been acting weirder than hell today and I want to know what in God's name is going on here!" John found himself standing over the seated government official.

"He loves you, John." The words echoed in the empty space. It was undeniable that the two had always been close. Straddling that line between life and death often enough with another person can and usually does bring you together. It's what John missed about the army. What John couldn't wrap his head around was that tall, lanky, flat-destroying, head-in-the-fridge-keeping git had enough wits about him to not over define and actually *feel* love.

"I didn't think you'd catch on..." Mycroft let out what could be considered a giggle. "I doubt he'll ever admit it either, and contrary to popular belief, I would love to see my brother happy." He finished.

"L-l-love... are you sure?" John managed to stutter, not at all prepared for the answer. Mycroft simply rolled his eyes.

"John, you two are close and have only gotten closer. My brother has never let someone touch him, let alone the majority of things that you touch on a regular basis. He trusts you and really does care. Whether or not he shows it is entirely his prerogative." Mycroft began to collect his things. "It's his birthday, John. He deserves something special. I know you can do that for him, even if it's simple." He said as he walked past John and out the door.

John was frozen there beside the table. Love? He thought. It was a little strong to go that far. But special. John understood special and started to make plans. Suddenly his night was going to get a lot more interesting. He pulled out his phone, sent a quick text to Sarah saying some rubbish about not being able to be in tomorrow. He was going to need some time to talk to the man after all was initially said and done.  
\--------------------------------------------  
Sherlock was stuck in the flat. It was his birthday and if that was what Mycroft had pulled John away for, he was going to send Mycroft a bouquet of human hands to thank him. He knew it was his birthday and he never expected anything and never would. Why Mycroft was putting John up to something was beyond him, and frankly unacceptable. Sherlock realized he had been on the couch fuming longer than he had expected. He heard the door open, heard the crinkling of shopping bags and assumed it was John.

"How was Mycroft?" He called into the vastness of the flat.

"Venomous as ever." John walked into the flat. "Were you going to tell me it was your birthday, or were you just going to ignore it like all the other years you never told me?" John asked as he walked into the kitchen. Sherlock harrumphed loudly.

"I didn't think it was any of your business, John. It's another day, no different from yesterday or tomorrow..." He paused when he heard John laugh from the kitchen. "What's so amusing?"

"You are, you silly git. Now come clean off some of this table, I'm baking." John said as he started to pull things out of the bags.

"Bake?" Sherlock asked, obviously confused.

"It's your birthday. I'm making you a cake and some dinner, we're going to hang around the flat and you can tell me how much you hate birthdays or the history of birthdays or whatever. It will be just like every other day. Except with cake." John said happily. Sherlock had gotten up and was unenthusiastically cleaning off at least half the table so they could eat later.

"What, no protest?" John chided him.

"No one... has ever made me a cake before." Sherlock admitted in a very small voice. "Not even Mummy..." John bit back his tongue because he didn't want to say anything that would turn the sensitive man's even more sensitive mood.

"Well, you're going to have one. Since we're staying in, you can stay in your lay about clothes if you'd like. No matter to me. Telly or no telly, violin or no violin. Do whatever you want, Sherlock. It's your birthday!" John smiled and turned to face Sherlock who was a shocking foot away from him. Without thinking, John pulled him into a hug.

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock Holmes." John felt arms circle around him. John gave Sherlock a peck on the cheek, which was more like his jawline in the height difference and set the wheels of the evening in motion.  
\----------------------------------------  
The violin music was slightly more upbeat than usual. John was smiling while mixing together cake ingredients and throwing together something simple for dinner. Penne with Chicken and a nice dark chocolate cake sounded perfect as a birthday dinner for his pensive flatmate. Though in the back of his mind, John desperately wanted to address this whole 'love' business. The cake was in the oven and the food had to simmer for a moment anyway. He turned to look at the man playing the violin.

John loved watching him play. His body ceased to be the machine he made it out to be and instead turned into an extension of his instrument. It flowed with even more natural grace and John suddenly found his thoughts wondering where else he was graceful.

"You're staring." Sherlock observed, his eyes still closed, his fingers still playing.

"I love you like this." The music paused, then continued as if to spur John's thoughts on. "You're so free and open. It's like seeing another person." John finished.

"I'm still the same person." Sherlock countered. John turned to stir the food quickly.

"I know you have no idea what I mean, but you're just different like this. It's breathtaking." John said. He was being honest and trying not to sound like he was hitting on the detective who wasn't really being a detective at the moment. Sherlock stopped playing and put his instrument down.

"What did Mycroft tell you." It wasn't even a question. John felt himself blush. He knew there was no use in lying to the man who always knew everything. It was better not to say anything at all, so he turned back to the food. "Tell me, John." Sherlock tried again. John stayed silent and kept looking after the food, trying to his best to ignore Sherlock's inquiry. John could see he was struggling.

"Sherlock... We've been through a lot together, yeah?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. "Life, death, and insanity and we still come home to this flat together." The timer dinged, so John pulled the cake out of the oven. "We've been dancing around a lot of things that we haven't actually wanted to say, lest the little haven we have made here just disintegrates." John puts the cake pans on a cooling rack and turns around to face his flatmate. "At least, I know that's true for me." He adds, turning the heat off on the food and getting ready to drain the pasta.

Sherlock was still silent. It was taking him longer than normal to absorb all this new information. Or maybe he wasn't absorbing it at all, maybe it was just being deleted as it was spoken. John sighed and drained the pasta, mixed everything together and began to set the table.

"If you aren't going to speak, you might as well eat." John said, gesturing to the seat across from him. He started putting dishes on the table and managed to get whole cakes out of the pans to keep cooling. To the doctor's surprise, Sherlock took the seat. He had half expected him to take off into his room and refuse to eat, pout and deny his own existence like usual. John just smiled at him and spooned some food onto his plate. John wasn't starving but he had no idea when Sherlock's last meal was. He didn't serve any to himself at that exact moment, so he turned and started getting the cake ready for frosting.

"What kind of cake?" Sherlock asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Dark Chocolate. I figured it was a 50/50 chance you would eat it at all, so I decided on something I would like. Hope that's okay..." John trailed off as he used most of his concentration to begin frosting. Sherlock was quiet again. He could hear the clink of silverware against plate so at least he was eating, or pretending to eat. John started humming as he spread the thick layers of vanilla frosting on the cake. The clinking stopped and John heard the chair scrape softly at the linoleum. Probably back to his violin, John thought.

John was suddenly surprised by arms around his waist and the heat of another body pressed to the back of his own. The arms found their purchase and coiled tightly around the shorter man, almost protectively. John was more or less done with the cake, so he placed one hand on the clasped mess around his belly button and the other he stretched up to find silky curls which he lightly tangled his fingers in to. John had told himself that if Sherlock wanted this, he had to be honest about it and tell him. John let a contented sigh pass across his lips as they just stood there.

"Dinner was lovely, John." Sherlock murmured. John could feel the heat of his breath against his ear. "I'm sure the cake will be good as well..." He added snuggling closer to John. John hummed with contentment but neither of them had moved. John felt the taller man shift and he felt heat and the tease of moisture against the shell of his ear. "Thank you... I..." Sherlock whispered. "I love what you're doing for me." He finished and started to uncoil himself from John. John almost whined in protest.

"Sherlock, you are not allowed to let go of me until you tell me the truth. You and your brother are both riddles, wrapped up in enigmas, wrapped up in self-righteous prats. So just say it already so I can kiss you..." John spun around in his grasp and his blue eyes met the steely grey. "And we can start a new chapter of our lives together... Please, Sherlock..." John's eyes were searching as he raised a hand up to those sharp cheeks.

The fear in the detective's eyes was obvious. John was holding firm and wasn't going to move until Sherlock had confessed his undying love, they had snogged for a bit and only then would he move to serve cake. Sherlock seemed to be searching for the right words and phrases, but he seemed to be drawing a blank. John's sudden boldness has really spurred him into speechlessness.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. Being emotional was not really comfortable for him and John knew that up and down. I need to hear him say it... John was tired of always hearing Sherlock's thoughts and life second hand and desired so badly for this one confession to drop from his lips so John could lap it up and they could drown in it together. All he could do now was wait.

"I love you, John Watson." Sherlock whispered, his eyes still closed. Steeling himself against a rejection that wasn't going to come. John's response was a melting feeling from his chest all the way to his toes, making his knees weak. He pushed himself up on his toes and pressed a kiss against the taller man's lips. They were soft and pliant, and John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck to give him better leverage. Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief and kissed John back, their mouths still closed. For one moment, there was nothing but that. The feeling of them connecting for the first time, and John wanted to push for more. He ran his tongue over Sherlock's lips which opened hesitantly and John pushed in to taste. He tasted like dinner and tea and heat and fear and desire which elicited a moan from John as he did everything to delete any space there was between their bodies.

They stood there in the kitchen kissing for what seemed like eons before John finally pulled away and buried his face in Sherlock's chest. "I love you too, Sherlock Holmes." John didn't notice invisible weight that Sherlock had been carrying but all the sudden, the man seemed lighter and more free. These unspoken words had been trying on the both of them. When they finally broke apart, both of them shivered at the cold air that rushed in between them. John turned back to the cake to pick it up and put it on the table. Once it was centered, he almost turned to get a plate when he saw one of those long pale fingers scoop some frosting onto a finger.

John was hypnotized as he watched that finger slowly push into that heart shaped mouth, watched those thin cheeks hollow and was nearly panting as that finger slid out of the detectives mouth, perfectly clean. John never really expected anything to happen sexually between them, but all the sudden the deep heat of desire flooded through him and he started thinking of all the things he wanted to do to that mouth. "Again..." He rasped, his voice surprisingly deep and husky. Sherlock's gray eyes darted up to his own and a smile traipsed across that smug face. Now that he knew John was watching, everything was in slow motion but this time with eye contact. John did his best to shift his growing erection as he watched those delicate lips close over that finger again. John stepped forward and dragged his finger through the frosting as well and brought it up to those lips.

They parted and Sherlock's tongue guided John's frosting covered finger inside. It was hot and wet and silky, the tongue doing things to his finger that not only turned his joints to jelly but made the pulse in between his legs increase ten fold. He wanted to see what else that mouth could do. Moan, suck, bite, scream... John was doing his best to try and keep his composure but the combination of those eyes, their secrets and that bloody mouth finally doing something to capture John's attention was making all those hopes rapidly dissapear.

John pulled his finger away and pressed himself in for another kiss. He was met with a moan when their erections finally collided through their clothes. John moaned as well, grinding into Sherlock with a possessive need that he hadn't felt in quite some time. This man was bloody confusing and John wanted to take advantage of this moment before Sherlock's brain clicked back on and started dissecting it. John snaked his hand down and brushed his hand over what could possibly be the most beautiful cock he had ever felt and he shivered thinking of what it would actually look like. Sherlock cried out and bucked into John's hand, leaving both of them gasping for air and purchase.

"John..." The name curled around them both, pulling them back to earth for just a moment. John moaned in protest. This was happening and if Sherlock was going to spoil it with some analytical nonsense, John was going to do his best to stop it from happening. He got more frosting on his finger and spread it down Sherlock's long, pale neck and started to lick and suck it off of him, eliciting some of the most delicious sounds John had ever heard in his life. Moans, gasps, purrs... And John didn't want to stop. He would nibble here and suck there, all the while working that dressing gown off Sherlock's shoulders. At the rate they were going, the cake would be abandoned here in the kitchen in mere moments. John couldn't control himself and was incredibly frustrated as Sherlock pulled back. His eyes were blown open but there was something still lurking behind them.

"I want you, John. I want to give myself to you as well... just one small caveat..." Sherlock stated as he pulled his own tattered t-shirt off his body. John's eyes drank in every single inch of that glorious pale skin only reaching back up to meet slivers of gray when he realized Sherlock was talking.

"And that is?" John rasped out, desperate to close the distance between them. Sherlock did it for him, twisting his hands into the hem of John's striped jumper and pulling it off. Sherlock reached over to the cake, using two fingers to swipe off some frosting and smear it down John's neck and across his scarred shoulder. He licked and nibbled it away, much like John had done to him but with more confidence and surprising skill.

"You had better last long enough to fuck me into that mattress, break me apart and put me back together again..." John gasped at the sudden curse word falling from his lips. It sounded so delectable and the prospect of doing something like that to Sherlock was by no means an unwelcome thing to hear. "Because this cake is delicious and I am going to want some." He finished. John shivered, his arousal taking on a full primal level. His smile turned into a dark and devious snarl and he all but tackled Sherlock into another kiss.

"I've been waiting for so long, I suppose another bit of waiting isn't going to hurt. Bedroom. Now." John smiled and grasped his wrist, towing the taller man behind them who had uncharacteristically broken into a small fit of giggles. The door was open and John swung Sherlock around so he was thrown down on the bed. He looked magnificent. His hair was wild and jutting out in every direction. His pupils were blown to dinner plate proportions. John could see marks from his biting and sucking beginning to come through across that pale neck. His chest was flushed and heaving and to top it all off, the stunning outline of his erection was straining through his pajama bottoms. "I wish I could take a picture of you right now, but it wouldn't do you justice." John grinned wildly and stepped forward.

In a flash, those long pale fingers were around the hem of his pants and his mouth was leaving hot, wet kisses along the edges. Those fingers shucked John of his pants and jeans in seconds, his cock springing forward, millimeters away from Sherlock's swollen lips. Sherlock's tongue darted out and licked up the precum that had been leaking from him and John let out a deep moan. Sherlock allowed him a moment to step out of his clothes and toss them aside before grabbing his hips and pulling him close. He kissed the head of John's cock, almost like a promise and John watched as those heart shaped lips opened and began to swallow him whole. Hotwetfuckohmygodheaven... the thoughts cascaded across his mind as more and more of him sank into Sherlock's mouth.

John wrapped a hand into those black curls and moaned even louder when Sherlock allowed him to start pumping his hips back and forth. John found himself staring in heat at the way his cock just seemed to appear and disappear in and out of those lips. "Fucking Christ... Sherlock... " He mumbled. Sherlock's hands had snaked around to his arse and grabbed a hold, spurring him to fuck that mouth a little deeper. Suddenly, gray met blue and John almost came seeing those eyes staring up at him. He stilled himself and Sherlock used his tongue to apply pressure all the way up the underside of his cock before swirling around the head and pulling off his cock with a small sad moan.

John pounced on the man, pinning him down to the bed and pushing his knees underneath those lanky thighs. Sherlock sighed out of relief and happiness and met John's mouth as they started kissing and biting each other with wanton abandon. John pulled him up slightly, not wanting to break the kiss and started to push the pajama bottoms down his hips. "No pants?" John broke the kiss to ask. Sherlock smiled, the hunger in his eyes was the answer John needed before he wrapped his hand around the pale cock that had finally sprung free of it's confines. John only moved to gently take off Sherlock's pajamas rather than rip them right off his body. He had no idea how many pairs Sherlock owned and wasn't about to destroy them if they were his only set.

Finally naked, bare erections met and both men let out gasp after moan after groan finally feeling the heat of the other, unabashed by fabric or morals. Sherlock pushed John off him and rolled over onto his belly which on the one had was incredibly inviting to John, who couldn't resist grabbing Sherlock's ass as he reached across the bed and into one of the drawers. He produced lube and a handful of condoms and more or less tossed them over his shoulder since John seemed otherwise occupied. John snatched up the lube and started warming it in his hands.

Sherlock was surprised to feel John begin to massage his lower back, strong fingers delving into taunt muscle. It was only a short time though before he heard the click of the cap and the sloppy sounds of more lube warmed between hands. Deft fingers sought out that pink ring of muscle but instead of probing it, John just slicked it. The warmth fell away and all the sudden, a warm and wet cock was rutting softly and gently between his cheeks. The massage continued albeit punctuated by slow thrusts up against him. The heat coming off of John was enough to encourage Sherlock to thrust gently back against him, slicking him further.

Sherlock had always suspected John of being a fantastic lover, but no where near this. The cap popped open again, bringing a brief pause to their moans. Sherlock felt a single finger press up against his entrance while a thumb stroked just below it. Apparently neither man was a stranger to the workings of not only anal, but gay sex. An unspoken surprise as one finger finally breached into him and Sherlock gasped at the sensation. John rubbed his back and squeezed his arse again, letting him relax before adding another finger. They had both wanted for so long that this wasn't rushed... but it wasn't slow and exploratory.

He felt John's fingers twist and curl and press. "Oh hell, John... Yes!" He moaned as John's medically adept fingers found his prostate on the first try. John hummed in appreciation and started to slowly glide his fingers over that pretty little spot deep inside him. Another finger was added and ripped an unholy moan from the man spread out on the bed. It had been so long and the last time wasn't nearly as special. The stretch and the burn was momentary before John slowly slid his fingers out and flipped the detective over without so much as a sound.

"If I'm going to fuck you into this mattress and have you fall apart, I sure as hell am going to watch it happen..." John smiled and pulled Sherlock's legs around his waist before grabbing the lube and a condom. He slid the condom on and slicked it, pressing the head of his cock right up against Sherlock. John looked into the face of the man beneath him, was returned with a smile and a slight nod and sunk himself in.

The tightness and the heat was immediate, causing John's vision to white out a little. Sherlock moaned something that sounded like "finally..." and pulled John in deeper with his legs. Once John was fully buried up to the hilt, he captured Sherlock's lips in his and shifted. Sherlock gasped and nodded, ignoring the burn. John began to slide in and out slowly, drinking in every flush and moan and gasp as his cock gently prodded Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock's cock was dribbling precum in between them which only spurred John on. It was like sinking into him gave John full access to Sherlock's mind.

No words had to be said to get John to pump harder and faster and in moments their bodies were slamming together with the sounds of skin hitting skin. Sherlock was almost screaming as John did what he was told, fucking the adorable, slutty, sexy detective beneath him into the mattress. John stole kisses when he could, Sherlock touched where he could reach. John almost lost himself when he saw Sherlock's fist wrap around his own cock and start to stroke. John was close, his movements becoming more needy, his hips snapping harder and faster and he watched Sherlock's hand match his hips in time.

Sherlock fell apart on that bed. He shattered into a million peices right before John's eyes. His eyes were squeezed shut, John's name was falling from his lips as his body tensed and went rigid. That tightness got even tighter, but John couldn't stop. Pearly white ropes shot out of Sherlock and John was able to get a few more thrusts in before he came undone as well. John collapsed into the mess, breathing heavy, not wanting to move or pull his own softening cock out of Sherlock. Beautiful, beaten, spent, chaotic Sherlock. John twisted his hand into those pale digits and brought them up to his lips, kissing everyone before closing his eyes and listening to the erratic post coital heartbeat of his new found lover.

Between deep calming breaths, John heard Sherlock smile. "I could really go for some cake..." He chuckled. John started laughing, but neither of them moved. They wouldn't for a while yet...

 


End file.
